This Fat Girl’s Got A Story For You

Recently there’s been a lady who’s been accosting me at the gym.
We’re going for two weeks in a row now.

She finds me after any gym class I go to, just to tell me that she “too used to be a size 16". With knowing looks, she tells me how much greater her life is now and that I should stick to the small classes*…

So here’s what you’re not saying Kettle Bell lady, so I’ll say it for you because you seem to think that I don’t have any self awareness.

So yes, it’s true.

You’re right.

I am fat.

(For the people who are wincing, it’s okay, I’m okay, you’re okay and we’ll be okay.)

It doesn’t take a bloody genius to see it or it doesn’t need for you to tell me… because I carry it.

So let me tell the story behind the curves, why they’re there and why I come to the gym (spoiler alert: it’s not to be a size 12).

We’re about to get blunt, so now’s a good time to quit if you’re having a sensitive day and this might make you crawl in to a tub of ice cream.

(No judgement here, I swear… Out of curiosity. What type of ice cream? I’m asking for a friend..)

You think fat is just about having extra layers around your organs.

Not for me sunshine.

Two years ago in a flurry of bureaucracy I had to leave the cushy life I had (and my size 12 body) and make my way across the world, except I wasn’t alone.

I’d met someone and on a promise that everything would be okay (goddamn I’m so naïve), we made the journey 40 hours to Melbourne.

But it wasn’t just a happy journey. We had to borrow money from a friend to pay for our airfares, two days before we left. And we came with nothing but $100 on a nearly maxed out credit card.

From there, things just got worse.

How worse?

At one stage I had only $15 in my account, no idea of where I was going to get more and a student loan bill for my partner that was well in to the thousands per month.

Speaking of that partner. She’d also go the entire day without eating just so that we could save money.

The day I realised what was happening, I drank a whole bottle of wine and cried in the shower. You know shit’s gone down when you’re bawling in the shower.

And to make matters worse, I rocked up to work one day (at a place where I was being blatantly bullied) and while I ate a toasted salami sandwich, I found out I was being fired on Friday. It was Wednesday.
I wasn’t meant to be in that email trail.

Broke, without a job and with no self-esteem I sat my ass on the couch for 3 months and drank and ate until I’d watched the entire back catalogue of Netflix.

And voila, fatness came.

I want to tell you that this story has a happy ending; I want to tell you that I’m a size 12 and conquered all my demons. And I want to tell you I’m a millionaire.

But I’m not.

Instead I’m almost the same weight, demons still lurk around but they get kettlebells smashed in their faces instead of burgers. While I’m not a millionaire I’m doing the things I love, with people I really care for, admire and I don’t care that I work 14 hour days.

Sure, there are days where I wish I could wear nothing but a muumuu.
But then I remember that my thighs rub and on a hot day that’s just asking for unnecessary pain.

Sure, there are days where I hate how this bit sags, this bit hangs and how I can’t buy things from the front of the rack.

Sure, there are days where I say to my partner that I feel fat and ugly. Just to have her say that the bigger the belly, the better the lover.

And to top it off, I still haven’t lost the 20kg I said I would lose before my 30th birthday and it’s 3 weeks away.

But you know what I’m proud of?

I’ve stopped sitting on the couch for months on end drinking and eating my anxieties.

Instead I bring them to the gym.

And the bit I’m super excited about?

I turn up.

Despite the fact it’s hard.

Despite the fact my lungs hurt.

Despite the fact my muscles ache.

Despite the fact that sometimes I suck so bad that I have to stop.

I still turn up.

Despite seeing your face at some of my favourite classes, I still turn up.

So save your commentary.

I’m not here to be a size 12.

I’m not here to wear the latest gear and lift the heaviest weight.

I’m here to clear my mind.

I’m here to turn bad habits in to new beginnings.

I’m here to be mentally strong.

And I’m certainly not here to take advice or shit from anyone.

Fat people don’t need the recipe to weight loss success, nor how-to’s or inspiration like “I used to be like you”.

If that shit worked, we’d all be size 12 preachy pricks hanging out at the gym drinking protein shakes in Lululemon getup.

But some of us are plus sizes, trying to build a simple foundation of:

Fuck yeah, I turned up.

(Rocky theme music in the background)

So keep your commentary, your judgement and your knowing-looks to yourself. And leave the poor other women in the gym alone. They don’t want to hear you bitching about me because I told you how disinterested in your commentary I am. They just want to put their faces back on, catch their breath and get back to work.

And to be honest, if you really wanted to be encouraging you would turn your:

“I used to be you”

to

“I’m here with you”

That shit works. And I’d love a training partner.

See you at the next class Kettlebell Lady.

Love,

From this Fat Girl that’s probably going to get in trouble by her loved ones for calling herself a fat girl. For the record, it was click bait you guys.

* P.S Fuck you for suggesting I stick to the smaller classes.
I don’t do small anything.

Like what you read? Give Mariella a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.